


a different kind of secret

by d_claiborne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mutual Pining, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-03-17 11:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18964651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_claiborne/pseuds/d_claiborne
Summary: The spy life offers many perks, really. You get to fly across America for free, you take down a criminal or two, you get a plethora of sick-ass guns (and maybe a hand grenade). If you're lucky enough, you might end up with an odd yet fascinating partner. What's not a perk is falling in love with him. Turns out feelings can be a real bitch - it's tough to deal with them when you have to deal with a crime boss and saving said partner from the grips of potential death, too.





	a different kind of secret

**Author's Note:**

> It seems that I post one fic per year and I'm very glad it's this one. (I AM determined to break that curse this year but I don't want to jinx it so shhhh.)
> 
> Thank you @impmakesart for letting me write for his gorgeous piece = [ART MASTERPOST HERE (link available soon)](https://impmakesart.tumblr.com/post/185318929415/a-different-kind-of-secret). The art is - with permission - embedded in the fic, too.  
> Thank you @rooneysrose, my girlfriend, partner in crime, fellow fic ~~sufferer~~ writer; my everything for supporting me and this fic throughout all.  
> Thank you @Niki for putting up with my writing and being a beta extra-ordinaire, as per usual. A life savior in human form.

_\- And while you're saving the world,_

_who do you think_

_will be saving you?_

 

 

 

  


 

 _D_ ean’s palm was dry against the Glock, but he was nervous anyhow. He glanced behind him, hoping he had successfully lost the guard they put them with today in the crowd.

“Do you have blueprints of this place?” he whispered. He rounded a corner and looked around. He was in a small storage room and could no longer hear all the people buzzing about upstairs.

He noticed the shelves were overflowing with boxes and random objects - a toolbox on one shelf,  a stack of papers on another. One just held a single light bulb. He figured it was the staff’s room for everything.

“Of course I have blueprints,” Bobby grumbled.

“So if someone was taken, what would be the most likely room to take them to?”

Bobby sounded confused. “I thought she wanted him to come with to the handover.”

“Bobby. Please.”

 

 

 

_“Remove your earpieces,” the guard said sternly. Dean and Cas obediently removed them and handed them over for an inspection. “What brand are these?”_

_“Standard Sennheisers,” Cas replied calmly._

_The guard, a bulky guy in his forties, sized them up. He gave the earpieces back with a shrug a second too late to not raise suspicion somewhere in Dean’s gut._

_“You know the guy you’ll be working with?”_

_The suspicion deepened. “What guy?”_

_The guard pointed to a much younger man - in comparison to himself but also to Dean and Cas - that was standing a few feet away, tapping away at his phone. “Adam Milligan.”_

_“Of course we know Mr. Milligan.”_

Do we? _Dean wanted to ask. He’d never seen the boy in his life and he wondered how Cas could just stand there without raising a brow. Why was there suddenly a third man on the job with them when only two had been hired for the event? Did they suspect anything? Did they know Cas and Dean were pretending to be someone they were not?_

 

 

 

Dean took out his earpiece after Bobby pointed him in the direction of three possible rooms they could be holding Cas in - and  reassured him he would be sending extra guys to help out if the situation ended up going south. He did it every time the job was getting serious and he needed to focus, even though it was strictly against code.

He was never the proper one - Cas was. Rules seemed to be sacred to him. He followed their code to the nitty-gritty details: from the big ones (never lie to your partner on the job) to the medium ones (know your weaknesses and your strengths) to the small-but-importants (stay in touch and don’t fucking take out your earpiece).

Dean took the first one for sacred as well, but the earpiece one? Nah, not so much.

 

 

 

He left the storage room and found himself in a long fluorescent hallway. There were black doors lining each side and according to Bobby, Cas could be in the second to last one on the left. The Ritz’s kitchen staff used to use it as storage for all their meat until the freezing broke.

Dean tried to listen for sounds or voices, but he wasn’t sure how sturdy the doors were. If they were soundproof, listening would do no good.

His steps were cautious. He felt antsy without Cas by his side - they had done so many jobs together that he felt naked without him.

The fact that Cas might be in danger was throwing him off just as much, but he tried to talk himself out of feeling so jumpy. It was never a good thing to be jumpy with a Glock 23 in your hand.

He didn’t bother checking the other rooms in the hallway. Years on the job had taught him that such things were nothing but a waste of time. He carefully made his way to the door Bobby mentioned and stopped in front of it.

Stopping in front of a closed door in this situation left you with a few options: a, kick the door in (but then again, he _really_ didn’t know how sturdy the door might be, plus kicking it in would create a lot of noise); b, see if the door is locked (which could bring the attention of whoever is inside to the door); or c, pick the lock.

Dean was damn good at picking locks, but option b was faster.

He tried the doorknob and tried to pull the door open. It gave smoothly. He only opened it a couple inches. There was no creak, but there was also no sound coming from the room.

He quickly pulled the door open wide. If there was anyone inside, a quick entrance would give them less time to prepare for him.

The room was like a yawning mouth, though, deep and dark and smelling fucking rotten.

 

 

 

_“It was a tough job to get through their firewall,” Bobby was saying on their morning-before-the-job call. “Charlie eventually got in. We logged you in as Jimmy Novak and Jerry Wanek, extra security for Abaddon.”_

_“I still hate that name,” Dean said while munching on his sandwich. “Who calls themselves Abaddon? Isn’t that like an angel of murder or something, in the Bible?”_

_“Of the abyss,” Cas corrected him coldly. It was the only thing he had directed at him all morning. “Do we have badges? Confirmation? How do we get in?”_

_“The driver taking you there will give you the badges. We got them late. Her regular bodyguard will be checking everyone in. He’ll check the documents I gave you yesterday, maybe have a couple stupid questions, but nothing you won’t be able to handle, I think.”_

_“You think?”_

_“Don’t be cocky, boy. I know I’m talking to two of my best. No,  Dean, there§s nothing you won’t be able to handle.”_

_Dean rolled his eyes. It was his favorite thing to do - roll his eyes at Bobby when Bobby couldn’t see him._

 

 

 

There was a knot in Dean’s chest and it tightened with every step. He did his best to ignore it and was mostly successful at that, with the exception of the occasional pang of anxiety.

Dean always thought was good with remaining calm on a job, but he was realizing now how much that also depended on whether he was alone or not. Rather; whether he was with Cas or not.

 _So this is what it’s gonna feel like_ , he told himself as he backed out of the dark room, closed the door and proceeded further. Just a shadow in a long corridor without a second gun to echo his, should it have to go off at any point. Not a rhythm, just a steady pace of singular breathe in, breathe out.

 

 

 

The stairwell was locked, so Dean finally had a chance to test his lock-picking ability. There was a satisfying click when the lock came free. This door opened with a soft creak and Dean peeked at the narrow stairs covered in ugly red linoleum.

His black Oxfords were quiet on them as he descended one floor down to the second room on Bobby’s list.

Laundry room. Used on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. It was a Saturday. Should be empty. Spacious, the smell of clean linen, detergent. Dry or wet air? A man at gunpoint or another gaping mouth?

 

 

 

_“Can I offer you something to drink?”_

_The bed in Castiel’s hotel room was still made without a single crease. Cas’ suitcase stood still and perfect by the bathroom door, the zipper slightly undone._

_“No,” Dean said. He sat down in one of the leather chairs by the small conference table. “I just couldn’t sleep, so I figured maybe you’d be up too.”_

_“Is there something wrong?”_

_Dean watched Cas’ lips as they shaped around the words. “No.”_

 

 

 

Dean was inching toward the black door of the laundry room when he heard a loud bang from the inside. He promptly stepped back.

He quickly calculated and considered his situation. His conversation with Bobby had taken place roughly seventeen minutes ago, which meant that back-up would arrive in probably another ten. They weren’t counting on needing extra people. The action was supposed to be small, careful and cautious, no one was supposed to get kidnapped halfway through.

Dean knew, just like he’d known that he shouldn’t be taking out his earpiece, that the smart option was to wait for the guys. Garth, probably; his brother Sam’s wife, Jess, and Anna. Bobby’s second bests.

But this was Cas. Despite everything, this was Cas.

That idea alone made Dean waver, and he knew that Cas would hate that. _Don’t_ compromise your safety for another’s. Finish the job. _Don’t_ jeopardize the mission. Proceed according to code.

Forget that the man inside the room might be dead any minute, if things really are going that south; if you don’t hurry your ass up.

Forget that you might love him; forget that he might hate you for it.

Step down. Wait.

Yeah, Dean had never been that great with rules.

 

 

 

_Dean’s phone rang at 4am Los Angeles time. Despite working full-time as a spy, he was never alert one second after waking up. Groaning, he sat up in his hotel room bed, grabbed the phone and picked up. “Hey.”_

_“Is it true?” Sam asked._

_Dean’s eyes were still closed. “Is what true?”_

_“Did you sleep with Cas?”_

_He flopped back onto his pillow and started rubbing his eyes. He didn’t even bother questioning why his brother would wake him up at 4 in the goddamn morning for this information - it was just his brother, he always did this, he was really the one who should have been a spy instead of a high-end laywer. “How do you even - God, forget it, I don’t wanna know.”_

_“Yeah, you do. Jess saw you walking out of the same room.”_

_“That doesn’t mean anything,” Dean argued. “Besides, she wasn’t supposed to stay at the hotel overnight!”_

_“Her flight was cancelled. Anyway. Unimportant. How are things between you two?”_

_After a prolonged silence, Sam sighed. “Not good, huh?”_

_“Bingo, Sherlock.”_

 

 

 

The laundry room was smaller than Dean had first thought it would be, and all eyes were on him the second he stepped through the door. He hadn’t been counting on slipping in unnoticed, though, so he was wearing a disarming smile and his Glock was tucked back into its leather holster. Because of the walk-through security they’d gone through when they arrived, it was the only gun he had on him and he felt naked. His 9mm revolver was missing from his ankle holster; his knife, inherited after his father’s passing, _J.W._ carved into the handle, wasn’t pressing against his other calf; he was even mourning the loss of his hand grenade, though he rarely brought it with and never used it.

“Hey, guys,” he said casually with the same smile, pretending to not notice the constellation everyone was in - he was noticing, peripherally.

(Woman, standing behind a chair. Someone in the chair. Another woman, a few feet away to the right. A movement in the top right, a glimmer coming in through the window, a soon-to-be red light, maybe - a sniper, or someone with a gun, a guard, an onlooker, a quiet helper.)

“Hello, Dean Winchester,” Abaddon said with a smirk.

Of course, the person tied to the chair was Cas.

 

 

 

_Dean was shivering, impatience crawling up his spine._

_Castiel pressed against his shoulders. “Why tonight?” he asked._

_Dean knew what Cas was looking for: a reasonable answer, a logical explanation. He sought rationality where there was none, because Dean’s thoughts were a jumbled mess and he was more feeling than thinking._

_Because I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day, all year actually, ever since I met you, ever since I saw that bullet go through your shoulder in that one unlucky shoot-out in Missouri and I saw red through the hole on your white shirt, and I was scared, really scared for the first time, and I wanted to kiss you then, and I want to kiss you now; because I’ve never met anyone who puzzled and frustrated me as much, anyone quite so opposite from me and still the same, and this is not how people talk, and I couldn’t tell you anyway, because how do I even begin to describe this feeling when it’s a feeling and not a word?_

_“Why not?” Dean replied._

_There was a glimmer in Cas’ eye, something unexpected and almost happy. Dean realized that he had gotten Cas all wrong. He liked order because he liked the familiar; Dean answered like Cas knew he would instead of offering deep sentiment and it comforted him. It was good enough in that moment. Maybe it wouldn’t have been good enough in any other moment, but it was good enough for now._

_Cas nodded briefly. He leaned in and kissed Dean again, his fingers going to the buttons on Dean’s shirt. He was steady against Dean, so absolutely sure of himself._

Why not _was all it took._

_It wasn’t until later that Dean realized there were many, meany reasons why not._

 

 

 

Dean was sure it was apparent - by the way the two women were looking at him - that he hadn’t been expecting to be found out so fast.

“Alright,” he said, willing himself to sound nonchalant. He stepped into the laundry room and closed the door politely. He allowed himself another look at his surroundings while forcing his lips into a smirk.

The laundry room was large. Washing machines lined up along each wall except for the east one, where there was a lounging area with a couch and a small table. The room seemed to turn right at the back - Dean couldn’t see behind the corner from where he was standing, but he hoped it didn’t open to a large hallway or another joined laundry room. Enclosed spaces were dangerous, but they were quicker than open spaces. You had to depend on your luck and reflex rather than your wit and stealth.

“I guess we’re not in a playing mood today. No games,” he continued. He still talked and moved lazily. Abaddon and the blonde woman both watched him like hawks. He slowly took out his Glock and weighed it in his hand. “Let him go.”

He looked at Abaddon.

Because he couldn’t look at Cas.

 

 

 

_[excerpts from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia]_

**_Abaddon_ ** _, (born December 25 real name [redacted] is an American singer and songwriter. In 2014, she formed the short-lived pop band Knights of Hell and is best known for her solo career._

_{.....}_

**_EARLY AND PERSONAL LIFE_ **

_There is little to nothing known to public about Abaddon prior to her career. She stated in a video for Glamour magazine that she worked as a lawyer before she took up a musical career. Paparazzi have been unable to track her down despite this information. She keeps her life private. “I don’t think it’s anyone’s business who I do or don’t sleep with, whether I have dogs or cats, what I eat for breakfast or if my bedroom is facing north.”_

_Rumors have been started up by various online portals and print magazines as well as by fellow musicians as to how and why Abaddon protects her privacy so fiercely. Her fanbase believes she is simply a smart woman who has learned a thing or two in her career as a lawyer and knows how to protect herself._

_Every year in June, Abaddon organizes one of America’s biggest charity events at the Los Angeles Ritz-Carlton Hotel._

_{.....}_

**_MUSIC CAREER_ **

_After releasing a self-titled album with her band Knights of Hell in 2014, she soon broke away from the band’s pop sound and went on to build an extremely successful career for herself. She has released two albums, A. (2016) and B. (2017). Her third album, A. II is set to come out in October this year. Her genre shifted into rock and roll, rock and grunge._

_Abaddon has quickly risen to fame in the music industry, each of her tours boasting multiple sold-out concerts._

 

 

 

When Dean sat down on the couch, it got him a raised eyebrow from Abaddon, which he took for a big compliment: you knew you were up to something good every time your opponent didn’t manage to hide their surprise. It reassured him that this was the right approach and he might be able to buy them time until everyone else got there.

“Let him go? Aw, Dean. But what if I don’t want to?” Abaddon asked, crossing her arms. She wore leather pants with a black belt, ankle boots, and a tucked-in burgundy shirt that hugged her body. She wore expensive clothes that looked cheap and on any other day, under any kind of different circumstances, Dean would think she was hot.

Well, and if he didn’t know she named herself Abaddon because -

But that’s another rule. Don’t personalize your thoughts. Focus.

“Then you could at least be so nice and give me the guns.”

“This saddens me deeply,” Abaddon said. “I don’t think we can be friends, Dean. Isn’t that sad, Castiel?” With the last word, she turned to Cas, and Dean automatically followed her gaze.

Their eyes locked.

 

 

 

_“Look at me,” Cas said. The words were quiet, which made them sound like a plea._

_Dean opened his eyes, his forehead scrunched up, collecting beads of sweat in the creases. He locked eyes with Cas as they rocked together. He reached out with his arms, slid his palms up Cas’ shoulders and then locked his fingers over the nape of Cas’ neck._

_“Kiss me,” Dean said in the same pleading  voice before he pulled Castiel down to his lips._

_He didn’t close his eyes - he forced them to remain open. Cas_ ’ _fluttered close. Dean watched his eyelids, felt the tips of their noses bump. He looked at Cas’ dark brows, at the wrinkle forming there in between them as he aged, at the pimple he had right in the middle of his forehead._

_Aside from pleasure, he felt an enormous wave of love, too, and both enveloped him in a tight embrace._

 

 

 

Cas quickly averted his glance. He had only granted Dean a second of contact with the piercing blue of his eyes, and it unsettled Dean deeply. He couldn’t read him, however hard he tried, but the look tied a knot in the pit of his stomach and it settled in there, tight.

“You don’t want to be his friend,” Cas told Abaddon flatly.

Dean remained sitting on the couch, suddenly wishing he wasn’t there or that he was invisible.

It seemed to interest Abaddon - she now raised an eyebrow at Caskeeping her eyes on him. The other woman’s body stayed turned to Dean, giving him zero leeway to try anything.

“Really now?” she asked. She uncrossed her arms and crouched a little, ruffling Cas’ hair with her right hand, running her fingers through it. Dean hated her and hated himself, because he remembered how that movement feels, what it’s like to run your fingers through that dark halo of hair, damp with sweat, and he hated Cas, and he hated them all. “Why would you say that?”

Cas shrugged as much as the ropes around his shoulders allowed him to. “He’s a terrible friend. I am a very good friend, though, and I think you’d see that if you untied me and let me help you.”

 

 

 

_Supp 31 - Henriksen_

_Report number 1674581_

_Officer Victor Henriksen_

_Date 4/26/2018_

_Time 12:30_

_Location 3510 South Michigan Avenue_

 

_On April 14th, 2018, at 11:15 I led a stake out on Oak Park Avenue across from the parking lot near an abandoned Taco Bell building. Accompanying me were Officers L. Tran, K. Tran, and Talbot. We had three additional back-up units stationed around our location at all times, these teams led by Officers Hanscum, Harvelle, and Walker. The goal of the operation was to either arrest the head of a Chicago gun trafficking circle or procure an eye witness._

_At 11:41 we were advised by Officer Hanscum via dispatch that the operation was in motion. The parking lot was approached by a van that appeared black in the dark. No license plate. After two minutes, at 11:43, the door of the abandoned Taco Bell opened and two people stepped out. One was a woman in seemingly in her early thirties with shoulder-length blonde hair. The other was disguised, wearing black pants, jacket, scarf over their mouth and a hat. Assumed female. This person estimated to be the leader._

_When the trade began, we filed out of our police vehicles and proceeded according to plan. I approached the parking lot from the right along with Officer L. Tran._

_At 11:52, Officer Walker’s safety went off and so did a shot. His Glock 22 malfunctioned. The technician Frank Devereaux’s report on this has been added to this file._

_Shots were exchanged between 11:52 and 11:55. Officers Talbot and K. Tran were injured. Medical reports have been added to this file._

_The suspect in black fled the scene. We were under constant fire until the van drove away. The van left behind three crates containing bullets and powder, and one box of handguns. The blonde woman had been injured and left behind. We arrested her on grounds of illegal gun trafficking for further interview. Upon this interview, we were forced to release her due to lack of evidence. Interview transcripts have been added to this report._

_I was wearing a body camera during this time. All audio and video recordings have been added to this report._

 

_END OF REPORT_

_Officer Victor Henriksen #31_

_Chicago Police Department_

 

 

 

Castiel sounded persuasive, as he always did, and Dean was surprised that Abaddon didn’t immediately start to untie him. Dean himself felt a little numb after what Cas had said.

“Tell me more,” Abaddon commanded.

“Do you know who I am?” Castiel inquired. He seemed unphased and cool, demanding their attention. Dean had become nothing but a bystander in this. Even the blonde woman was looking at Cas with interest.

“Is this a test?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re the thing we not so law-abiding people hate the most in this world. You’re a spy.”

“Or maybe I’m a double. Maybe I’m a spy who doesn’t want to be a spy but a criminal. Maybe I want to join the woman who has built herself an empire. That’s your real weapon, isn’t it? Your mind. You’re smart. I’m smart too. And I want in.”

 _But he’s lying_ , Dean told himself over and over again, but the thing is, rule number one is “Don’t lie to your partner on a job, don’t keep anything from them,” and Castiel always followed the rules.

 

 

 

_The night ended._

_Dean woke with the sun, even though the blinds were closed and the hotel room was bathed in half-dark. He shuffled, feeling that the sheets were crusty where sweat and come had dried up. He felt disgusting for a brief second when he realized he had been rubbing his skin against it all night, but then he remembered that Cas was next to him, just as naked, rubbing his skin against it just as much, and he dozed off again with a smile._

_When he awoke next, Cas was up and out of the bed. Dean groaned and turned over onto his stomach, hugging the pillow and burying his face in it. “Should have woken me up,” he mumbled._

_Cas was quiet. He was putting on his suit and tie while reorganizing his suitcase neatly, already trying to make the room look like he’d never even been there. That they hadn’t been there._

_“Call with Bobby in ten,” Cas announced, his voice cold. Or at least cold-ish. It was hard to guess, but it woke Dean up anyway._

_“Cas?” he asked, turning back to him. He suddenly felt inappropriate, naked, only half-covered with sheets, while Cas stood fully dressed a few feet away from him. He had probably showered and his skin was crystal clean where he had rubbed it against the crusty mess._

_Cas looked at him._

_It seemed as though he was trying to both take in the sight of Dean and make a decision  at the same time, but he either couldn’t or made a decision that hurt Dean very badly._

_“Get ready,” he said._

_That was that._

_The night ended._

 

 

 

“Meg,” Abaddon said and looked up at the blonde woman.

 _I have to do something_ , Dean told himself but ultimately, all he could really do was feel flabbergasted. He had no idea what was going on, and so he was a total loss. Now he was actively trying to catch Castiel’s eye, but the man wouldn’t look at him for the life of him, or so it seemed. Perhaps he felt shame as much as Dean felt disappointment. It would have only been fair.

“Background info,” she commanded.

Meg took a deep breath. Dean expected her to pull out a spread, or read from her phone, but she recited from memory. “Castiel Novak. 38 years old. Works for Robert Singer. Employed since 2008. Partnered with Dean Winchester in 2008. He’s always been loyal to their company. Broken right arm, childhood injury on left calf, dislocated left shoulder blade.”

They didn’t get all of them, and Dean didn’t know whether he should be glad for it or not.

“Thank you,” Abaddon said. Meg nodded, looked back at Dean and smirked.

Castiel looked at Meg and then back at Abaddon.

“Would you rather I knife you in the calf or dislocate your shoulder blade again?”

“Is this a test?”

Abaddon smiled. “Maybe.”

 

 

 

_INTERVIEW WITH BENNY LAFITTE_

_Q=Jody Mills_

_A=Benny Lafitte_

_{excerpt}_

 

_Q: When did you see the two men?_

_A: I already told you, ma’am. I was in front of my store ‘cause that’s how far I got and I saw ‘em one after another, just as they fell out the window._

 

_Q: Which window was that, Mr. Lafitte?_

_A: Second story window, ma’am._

 

_Q: What happened then?_

_A: They got up and went back in the building. I heard shots._

 

_Q: Before or after?_

_A: I mean, both, technically, but I’m talkin’ ‘bout after. I heard shots. One of ‘em was limping already when they went back in._

 

_Q: Can you describe the men to me?_

_A: Again?_

 

_Q: Yes, Mr. Lafitte, again, just humor me one more time._

_A: One of ‘em, the limping one, was taller. Dark hair. He wore a black trenchcoat over a suit. I saw it when they ran back in. The other was shorter. Brown hair and the like. Real bowlegged, noticed that when they got up from where they fell and leaned against the wall, I guess to recuperate. I don’t know. Didn’t see much more ‘an that, was kinda busy almost bleedin’ to death out there after the assholes these two were chasin’ shot me in my own shop before runnin’ up the building, y’know._

 

_Q: Did you notice anything else? Eye color? Weight? Hear any voices?_

_A: Nah. I just heard the shorter one call the tall one an ass. Who are they anyway?_

 

_Q: That is classified, Mr. Lafitte. They are just someone we need to get our hands on._

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Dean was a little boy, he used to play hide-and-seek with his brother. Dean was good at hiding and Sam was good at finding; Sam was bad at hiding and Dean was bad at finding. It never created any beef between them, the fact that Sam always won and Dean almost never did. Dean loved his brother probably more than he’d ever loved anything or anyone else. A weird mixture of responsibility and childlike devotion that he’d never let go of (even as an adult) made for a lifelong bond of mutual trust and unconditional friendship.

The only time Dean had ever come close to feeling this way about another human being was with Cas. It was hard to tell whether it was stronger; it was mostly just different.

It was gradual. At first, Dean was Castiel’s Sam. Dean was social, outgoing and charming and always fit in with the collective because he’d always been great at mending his personality so that it pleased the people around him. Castiel, on the other hand, was antisocial most of the time, withdrawn and silent, rebellious to social norms and the idea of pleasing others just for the sake of pleasing. In any interaction, Dean came out as a winner. Castiel never hated him for it.

There was a bond slowly forming.

It carried a cautious undertone at first. Dean tentatively shared that he’d never wanted to be a spy, but it had been a life saver after their father passed away. Shared that he needed to work through his anger and needed to save someone because he’d never managed either with John Winchester. Somehow it stuck, and now it was his life.

Castiel tentatively shared that he’d always wanted to be a spy - he called it a secret agent, probably because it sounded nobler to him - because his parents wanted him to be a cop, and if there was anyone whose rules he didn’t follow, it was theirs. He did want to help the public somehow; he just wanted to do it on his own terms. So he picked up an illegally purchased gun and went in search of a secret agency.

“You could’ve been a private eye,” Dean told him one night over beer, after they’d finished a job. “Less hotel rooms, less red-eye flights, less, y’know, accidental murder and almost arrests and stuff.”

Castiel tilted his head and looked at him, fingers against the beer bottle’s neck. “We’ve skewed morale, you and I, don’t you think?”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe, but I trust you with my life.”

“Yes, so do I,” Cas replied. “Because I know you’re stupid enough to throw yourself in the way if someone shoots at me.” He said so with a complete poker face.

Dean laughed. A bond had been formed.

 

 

 

Dean wasn’t sure how many more minutes of this he could take, or when he would be able to shake off his paralysis and move.

He was still frozen on the stupid couch.

He smelled detergent with every breath.

The person he’d fallen in love with had just revealed that their years together had been a ploy so he could cross over and make dirty money selling guns to people to spread mindless violence.

Whatever their night together was, Dean didn’t even want to think about it.

After it had been established that Cas would opt to have his shoulder blade dislocated again (“I’m only being smart. There’s a chance you’d slice through a blood vessel and I’d rather lose an arm than too much blood.”), Abaddon smiled.

“How did you get through our firewall?”

 _That’s how they know_ , Dean realized suddenly. Bobby’s words echoed through his brain: It was tough to get through their firewall. _That’s why they put an extra guy with us. That’s why we’re here. Fuck._ Then, a random thought: _At least the extra guy was useless._

“We have a great hacker.”

“Give me their name and I’ll let you be my friend.”

 _Don’t do it_ , Dean prayed silently. Please, don’t do it. Whatever you do, don’t give us up, you have to be feeling something, the years of friendship couldn’t have all been a lie, we couldn’t all have been a lie you were telling us, you couldn’t have been a lie, please just don’t say anything, just don’t say anything, don’t-

“Her name is Charlie Bradbury,” Cas said with a smile. It sounded like two of the most easiest words in the English language.

Dean felt like he was going to be sick. His fists clenched and he finally stood, gun in hand. He was ready to shoot and make it purposeful, not accidental.

“Meg,” Abaddon said, “Untie him. He’ll be useful.”

“What about the other one?” Meg asked while she cut through the ropes that had been holding Castiel tied to the chair. Once cut, they fell away almost soundlessly and he was free to stand up. He was rubbing at his shoulders, kicking away the ropes as they fell to the floor.

“Him?” Abaddon asked and raised her eyebrow at Dean. “He’s a good lookin’ fella, but I’ve never seen anyone _less_ useful. If he tries to shoot, he’ll probably shoot his own leg. He’s so lost. Just look at him.”

And Castiel finally did.

His eyes quickly jumped to the top right - the sniper - and then back, around the corner. Dean nodded.

Then he punched Meg in the face.

 

 

 

_Dean showed up fifteen minutes late, but he brought a muffin and a latte for everyone in the office, so he was forgiven. He was rarely at the office, actually, and since he was considered their local charmer, he probably would have been forgiven anyway. He just liked that the muffins and lattes really made it look like he took extra care. Which he did._

_He made his way to his desk after giving out the last pastry-plus-caffeine combo. It was only then that he noticed the dark-haired guy sitting in his chair and dusting his desk. Which,to be honest, probably needed dusting. He hadn’t been there in a couple months -  jobs keeping him busy, especially the really dragged out tracking of the cliche Russian-ex spy -turned-Kansas-farmer. That one did him in - or Kansas itself did, one does not forget where one’s from - but anyway, he hadn’t been to the office in a while and this had to be a welcome surprise._

_“Well, shit,” Dean said. He was a lot younger then, paler, freckles popping, and he was aware of this. “Is this my porn fantasy coming to life? Who do I have to thank?”_

_The man frowned. “Firstly, that’s very rude, and secondly, you didn’t bring me a muffin. I don’t owe you an explanation.”_

_“Calm down! Jesus,” Dean laughed nervously. He cautiously looked around, not missing the smirks on his colleagues’ faces - especially Jess, who thought she was entitled to it ever since she started dating Sam, was grinning - and searched the open office for Bobby._

_When he spotted him, he cleared his throat. The man at his desk wasn’t paying any attention to him, so Dean nodded, murmured, “Right.” and bee-lined for Bobby._

_“Bobby.”_

_“Hey, Dean. How’s good old Kansas?”_

_“Better off without me, or maybe the other way around,” Dean said. “Listen, why’s there an alien sitting at my desk?”_

_“Oh,” Bobby said and shrugged. “That’s Castiel, our new guy. I put him with you so you can show him the ropes, do a couple jobs with him. You’re great to tag along with.”_

_“Okay, but, uh, he’s an alien. He’s sitting at my desk.”_

_Bobby looked at him and shook his head. Dean could see that there was a smirk tugging at his lips as well. It was like everyone was in on a secret or a joke or both, and no one cared to tell him. “Relax, Dean. I’m actually pretty sure you’ll like the guy.”_

 

 

 

Everything was happening all at once and that was exactly Dean’s element. He was ready barely a second after he heard Meg’s nose crack loudly and saw blood splutter on the floor from it peripherally. He aimed his weapon toward the sniper, and even though he knew he couldn’t have good aim, he shot a warning shot to let the person know he was done sitting around and playing nice.

Cas was doing his best, but Meg and Abaddon were both trained fighters - Abaddon even more so, which Dean never would have guessed. Dean took the chance and crouched, then slid across the floor.

He crouched before turning the corner.

He didn’t know what to expect there - could be a man about as huge as a missing Stonehenge piece, could be someone sly and quick with a blade in hand. Behind him, he heard the window shatter as the sniper confirmed their presence.

A tall gangly man with brass knuckles smiled at Dean, revealing two rows of too big teeth. He attacked, Dean dodged and managed to punch the man in his shoulder with his elbow. The man was sturdy and Dean’s quickly thrown punch against the bone made his arm vibrate.

Dean wasn’t thinking, and he liked that. He was fighting, and he liked that.

 

 

 

_“This is Abaddon, for Glamour._

_“Hello, friends, it is Friday March 15th, it’s sunny as always in Los Angeles and I am here because Glamour was fabulous enough to ask me to come and speak to you all. You’re watching the Friday Funday!_

_“Glamour asked me to talk to you guys about building a name for yourself, especially if you come from nothing like I did. Everyone thinks it’s always some kind of inspirational and/or motivational story, but let me be frank and short with you: it’s not that glamorous. [laugh] All there is to it is hard work, hard work, and then some more hard work. I grew up in Texas and it was a rough childhood, it was a small town, if you were different in any way you might have just as well had antennae on your head like that chick from the MCU, you know which one. My parents were decent and I had no siblings, but that life was stifling. I knew I wanted more, so I just got up and said, ‘alright, I’m gonna get it.’_

_“For me, that meant law school because I thought I would mean something.  I worked as a lawyer and was successful as a lawyer for a good few years, met a lot of people, and got so much experience, but I realized that wasn’t for me and I wanted people to really hear me outside of courtrooms. I mean, look at me, guys. Do I look like a courtroom person to you? [laugh]_

_“Thing is, you gotta sacrifice some things. There will be nights where you’ll hate yourself for betraying your parents because you left them behind, or betraying your principles because suddenly you’re doing something else than you originally planned to do, but there’s a price to pay for everything. You just gotta know what you want and you gotta grab it. Stick to your guns, guys, pay the price if you have to - we all have to sometimes - and I promise you that you’ll get where you want to be._

_“Alright guys, that was a little bit of advice from me. Don’t forget to check me out on all the socials Glamour will link down below and do not forget to watch the livestream from my charity event in three months on the dot. Some big names will be there and I promise you’ll have fun even if you’re watching from your bedroom. You know I always bring it and if you want to appreciate that, I’ll be happy for every cent so we can help the people in need who can really benefit from it._

_“Love ya guys, stay glamorous!”_

 

 

 

Dean’s ribs were throbbing from where the man landed a very well-aimed punch. He didn’t think any were broken, but it was difficult to tell - he was running on adrenaline and not giving himself enough time to assess any wounds. All he knew was that he was capable of continuing the fight and that was good enough for him in this situation.

The other window door shattered, but then the constant hail of shots stopped. Dean was only half-aware of this.

“Son of a bitch,” he murmured when the man he was fighting fished out a razor blade from his coat and smoothly tossed it from one hand to the other, as if he was in an old noir film..

He heard a shout that he knew was Cas’.

 

 

 

_They stumbled out of the old building, Cas leaning on him heavily. Dean veered away from the bleeding man by the door and softly sat Cas down on the curb a few feet away. He leaned over him._

_“What’s wrong?” he asked with urgency._

_Castiel seemed to not want to bother with speaking. He took off his trenchcoat and then his blazer. Dean saw that the right sleeve of his expensive white shirt was now crimson red and the blood, still running in rivulets from the hole in it, was preventing it from drying into the deep color of rust._

_“How bad is it?”_

_“Grazed,” Castiel replied. Dean knew it wasn’t true - he just hoped it meant the bullet went through._

_Police sirens sounded in the distance._

_“We have to go,” Dean said, knowing how pained he sounded. He hated seeing Cas like this; he was aware of the cotton ball in his throat that wasn’t able to swallow and the rate at which his heart was beating. “C’mon, Cas, please.”_

_Cas didn’t say anything when Dean pulled him back up and helped him quickly hobble to their car, parked behind one of the buildings down the block. Dean knew then that Cas had been right: he would throw himself in the way of any bullet; he would carry him anywhere. His shoulder would always be there to lean on; he would do anything, he was stupid enough to die for this man. He was stupid enough to love him._

 

 

 

Castiel’s shout was followed by Abaddon’s, and then all hell broke loose. Everything got twice as loud, the punches and the grunts and words, and it was only then that Dean realized Bobby’s people finally got there.

It felt like ages ago that he had removed the earpiece - then again, it also felt like ages ago that he had sat on the couch and listened as Cas betrayed them. He suddenly felt very tired, really just wanted to sit down, because even though Cas initiated the fight, wasn’t it still him who said those words? Wasn’t it still him who gave Charlie up willingly without persuasion? He _wanted_ to give her up.

So Dean felt tired, and he wasn’t fast enough when he was attacked again, catching him in a headlock. His razor was suddenly too close to Dean’s skin; certainly too close for comfort.

They were both breathing heavily, Dean more so than the man. He tried to hunch over and shake the man off, but when it wasn’t successful and he was losing air by the second, he had to retreat to a non-professional fight technique, which was literally stomping down on the man’s foot and then punching him straight in the nuts.

The man was strong, though, and even though he winced and his body jerked, he didn’t let Dean go. They really winced and jerked together.

 _I’m not gonna be taken down by someone like this_ , Dean thought. He wished he had his own blade, but he didn’t. He could only use his arms and legs. Gripping the man’s hands, he backed away fast and hard until they met a wall, the man’s back slamming against it with force. The impact finally shook his body enough that he let Dean go.

As he fell back and the headlock loosened, the man’s razor grazed Dean’s cheek slightly. It didn’t even hurt and if Dean didn’t feel the blood hot and wet on his face, he wouldn’t have realized at all.

Without a word, Dean turned around and caught the man’s shirt as he was about to slide down. He held him up and with his free hand, he started punching him until his nose cracked too, just like Meg’s did, then aimed at his eye, at his cheekbones, at the side of his head. He punched and punched until he felt like a monster and the man lost consciousness. Then Dean stepped away and rather calmly, though with ragged breaths and a bloody face and knuckles, he reminded himself that he was only defending himself.

 

 

 

_They were seated in a large room with glass walls. This always seemed ridiculous to Dean - he grew up watching Batman and concocting wild fantasies and he’d always thought that being a spy meant having a secret headquarters somewhere, kind of like like the Batcave. To his surprise, Bobby’s agency looked more like a local newspaper office at first glance - a couple conference rooms, a big floor plan open office, computers and a lot of paperwork. Really very underwhelming and less superhero-y than he’d wished. Less glamorous by a long shot._

_He’d grown used to it, though._

_“Who is she again?” Castiel asked after Bobby briefed them on Abaddon, the up-and-coming underground boss who specialized in gun trafficking._

_“A singer,” Dean informed him with a smile. “You know. Rock chick? Always on the cover of something, really hot, red hair-”_

_“The way you objectify women is disgusting, and I will keep telling you this until you learn,” Castiel cut him off. “I mean, who is she? How do we know she’s the one?”_

_Bobby pulled out two additional files and handed them over. “We’ve been tracking her for a while, but we weren’t sure until this year’s Mardi Gras in Chicago.”_

_Dean looked at him and raised his eyebrow. “You two get drunk and have a lovely chat or something?”_

_“Your excuse is that you were in New York and had your own problems.” Ah, yes, the infamous modern-day American Jack the Ripper. “Cas? Does this year’s Mardi Gras in Chicago ring a bell for you?”_

_Castiel was opening his file, smoothing out the first paper with his hand. They were sitting in a little triangle - Bobby at the head of the table and Dean and Cas opposite each other - and Dean watched him, amused._

_“As far as I know, there was a big fire about halfway through. People packed in the streets were panicking and so were the celebrities who had a charity gig later that night in town. They didn’t know who started it, they only found a van full of guns and assumed it was an abandoned terrorist attack - oh. Abaddon was one of the celebrities present in the city, wasn’t she? Did her people start the fire for distraction, but something went wrong with the trade?”_

_“Yes. And then she appeared at the concert, not as a performer though - just a VIP guest there to support a good cause. Very unannounced.”_

_“Our guys saw her.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And that’s why the trade didn’t go off, because she realized she was being watched.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“I’m sorry about the comment I made, I really didn’t mean it,” Dean interfered, completely off-topic, as he watched Cas figure it out. “I’ll do better.”_

_Bobby replied instead of Cas. “I expect that, boy. This is a big one.”_

 

 

 

Dean stumbled around the corner and looked at the scene in front of him. It didn’t look as chaotic as he had expected based purely on all the noise, but it was still quite the sight.

The freshly cleaned hotel linens and towels where all across the floor and there was an ugly bullet-shaped hole in the couch where his head had been. He could no longer smell detergent in the air; it was tinted with the smell of metal instead.

Anna was on the floor, her leg bent at a very disturbing angle beneath her. Castiel was hunched over her and checking her pulse while Jess was trying to deal with Meg, who was turning to be much more dangerous than expected. Garth was missing, probably because he went to take care of the sniper.

Abaddon was left unnoticed. Beyond shouts and grunts and Castiel’s panic, which wasn’t audible but Dean could feel it anyway because he was so attuned to Cas’ moods and feelings, she was lost. The chaos swallowed her, but Dean realized she liked being swallowed by it.

She was on her hands and knees, slowly making her way towards a gun left abandoned on the ground, close to one of the washing machines.

She hadn’t noticed Dean.

He saw that the washing machine’s door was open and her head was exactly in the right spot. He ran, his footsteps also lost in the chaos of it all, and smashed the door against Abaddon’s head.

He looked at Cas as her body fell to the floor, unmoving, as if he was looking for approval or affirmation, where in reality he simply wanted to see what the man would do.

Castiel was already looking at him. He smiled, relief smoothing out his forehead and sitting atop his sweaty brow. His dark hair was a mess and he was smiling, which meant hope. He was smiling, _smiling_.

 

 

 

_Dean slowly came down after they both came and laid on top of each other for a while. He felt Cas’ presence against him, body warmth mixed with his damp skin, a heavy presence next to Dean’s. He felt real and sudden and inevitable at the same time; Dean knew he had been waiting for this ever since his inappropriate remark at the office during their first meeting, when they were both so yount, and he hoped that Cas had, too._

_“Can I look at you?” Dean asked, because he suddenly felt self-conscious._

_“Look at what?” Cas asked. They couldn’t see each other - they were cuddled up together, Dean’s face in the crook of Cas’ neck. In this moment in time, it didn’t feel inappropriate or weird or childish, it simply felt natural and absolutely right._

_“At you.”_

_Cas inhaled, but then he let the breath go, his thumb rubbing idly at Dean’s shoulder. “Go ahead.”_

_Dean sat up in the bed, facing Cas. He took him in slowly; in the haste of before, he didn’t have the time or focus to do so.  Castiel’s body wasn’t perfect, which made him perfect. He didn’t have the abs one would expect from someone in this field, but his waist was slim and Dean could trace the outline of his ribs if he really tried. Dark hairs scattered across his chest, like a constellation between his left and right breast, and lined the way from his belly button to his crotch. There were a few small birthmarks dotted around his stomach and on the insides of his arms, dark against the pale skin. He had a scar on his calf, a raised thing lining the muscle. He had another at his hip, another at his thigh, another in the elbow ditch, and then, finally, another on his shoulder where he was shot._

_Dean felt stupid when he realized he wanted to call Cas beautiful out loud and so he didn’t._

_He felt nostalgic and sentimental - he was thinking of the years they had spent together, of their banter, of the soft reprimanding they always gifted the other with, of the jobs, the flights, the hotels. With all the bad, there was the good - how safe Cas had always felt, the scent of his cologne, his long fingers, the everything that Cas was. Dean loved him more than he could say._

_He had come into this room under the  pretense of a late night chat, but he wasn’t quite sure if he would ever be able to make himself leave again. He wanted this chat to last a lifetime._

_Biting his tongue, Dean didn’t say any of this._

_He reached out with his hand and brushed the scar on Cas’ arm. Then he leaned in and did the same with his lips._

_Perhaps it made Castiel feel embarrassed, perhaps it was too tender, but he buried his fingers in Dean’s hair and said: “My turn. I want to see you too.”_

 

 

 

With Abaddon down, they only had to take down Meg. She was good, but she wasn’t good enough to take on three trained fighters - then again, no one would be without a gun in their hand. She went down bruised but proud, and Dean respected it, just like the others probably did too.

Adam was nowhere to be seen. Dean secretly suspected that he wasn’t in on anything and simply wanted to get drunk on champagne.

The room was suddenly very quiet, bodies trailing the way from around the corner all the way to the door. This wasn’t the usual mess, but Dean took it in without a word. He was preoccupied with other things.

 

 

 

The thing is, Dean was never very brave. He liked to kid himself that he was - he had to be, right, with this kind of job? But the truth is that he wasn’t. Sam was the brave one and the smart one, Dean was the reckless one, the stubborn one, the determined one, the angry one.

He didn’t mind shooting, tracking, following, staking out - none of it. Did it make him brave? He wanted to think so, but he knew it didn’t.

Where it really mattered, Dean Winchester was a coward.

He was a coward in front of himself and to himself. He lied to himself frequently about his feelings, about what they meant, about standing up for them. He lied to himself about this so he wouldn’t have to face it and do something about it. He was a coward with others, hiding behind the mask of a sometimes frivolous, always funny guy who told inappropriate jokes (less now, as he aged and matured, but still) and geeked out too much. Fake interests and buying people with muffins and coffee so he wouldn’t have to own up to his mistakes.

Kissing someone in dark hotel rooms, having sex with them without giving a reason, without saying ‘ _I love you and that’s why’_ because he was scared, and then feeling shocked, hurt, and betrayed when this person treated him the same in the daylight.

He was a coward through and through.

But see, the thing is, he was getting very tired of being a coward.

 

 

 

“Can you call the police?” Dean asked Jess in haste, “And Bobby and everyone?”

“Yeah, sure,” she replied, checking Anna’s pulse one more time. She was already fishing out her phone with her other hand.

“Alright, thanks. You,” Dean pointed at Cas, “with me.”

Cas followed calmly and obediently. Dean walked to the corner and around it, carefully stepping over the gangly man’s legs as he lay spread eagle, starfished on the floor. Cas didn’t comment on it; just approached Dean and then, somehow, even though he was taller than Dean, he looked up at him.

Dean had never seen him look so small and at his mercy, but no, no, no, he was done being a coward, Cas had crossed a big line in there, and - _I’m done, it hurt and I’m done pretending it didn’t, I need to know what happened._

“What the fuck, Cas?” Dean asked. He only realized how angry he truly was when he heard himself speak.

Castiel seemed to search for an answer, but he searched for it in the wrong place - his eyes were darting all across Dean’s face, at his lips, cheeks, his eyes and eyebrows. The answer was somewhere else.

He opened his mouth and then closed it.

“Well?” Dean pressed. He could hear Jess around the corner on the phone with the police and he knew they would have to get out of here soon. But he needed an answer. He couldn’t imagine walking out of here without knowing where they stood. Not even in the romantic way, that was pretty clear, just - just in the way that Castiel had been his partner for years and now it seemed like a lie. How does one live with that?

Castiel refused to give in and answer, though.

Instead, he confidently stepped up to Dean, roughly cupped his cheeks and kissed him.

 

 

 

_“Are we gonna talk about it?” Dean asked. “Aren’t we gonna talk about it? Can we talk about it? I’d like to talk about it. I wanna talk about it. Do you wanna talk about it? I wanna tell you something. Can I tell you something? We need to talk. Are we gonna talk about it?”_

_The mirror in the bathroom of Cas’ hotel room didn’t answer him. A scared boy stared back instead, wide eyes turned into a huge question mark._

_“We need to go,” Castiel called him._

_The boy in the mirror quickly transformed back into a man with hardened features._

_Dean walked out of the bathroom. They looked at each other, almost expectantly, but Dean didn’t say anything and neither did Cas._

 

 

 

“Was your earpiece out?” Castiel asked him jokingly. He was trying to be friendly; he almost sounded cheerful. They were both in the back of an old Honda Civic the color of washed-out blue, driving away from the Ritz according to the speed limit, not over, therefore excruciatingly slow for five secret agents fleeing a big crime scene.

Fast cars would raise suspicion though, so they had to drive slow - the fact that the head of the gun trafficking problem, that had taken root in Chicago and spread across other states, was unconscious in a laundry room would perhaps distract the police too.

Dean’s jaw clenched.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

Dean looked away and out of the window.

 

 

 

**_A SCANDAL AT THE RITZ_ **

 

_JUNE 16TH. LOS ANGELES. There’s always a scandal happening in one corner or another in the city of stars, but this time, it’s a big one._

_If you’ve been following the news lately or simply keeping an eye out for any gun safety related talk, you know that someone’s gun trafficking business has been blossoming. There have been several arrests in Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, and other major cities. The police have never revealed any leads or suspects - we secretly think they simply didn’t have any - but last week at the Ritz was fruitful. The head of this business fell into the police’s lap when, allegedly, a rival business left this one unconscious and injured at the Ritz._

_This is shocking enough, but it’s only the tip of the iceberg. The head of the gun business turned out to be no other than Abaddon, the internationally famous rock and roll singer, beloved by the majority of the world._

_Always secretive about her past, Abaddon reached fame when she formed a pop-band called Knights of Hell. Well, there was a reason why she always kept everything under wraps: this ex-lawyer met a lot of people during her short-lived career at court, many of them on their way behind. She quickly came to money when she started smuggling items to prison, creating ties to ex-con artists and dealers of various kinds, which allegedly led her to the underground where she quickly usurped the position of the (wo)man of the hour. A new queen to rise to the occasion._

_With her new illegally earned money, she came to fame, luxury, and even more weapons deals. According to the police reports available to public (sadly only about 20% of the actual file!), Abaddon was responsible for over a thousand gun trades with dealers big and small in the past year alone. She distributed weapons smuggled across the border to smaller gangs for spicey prices and reined above all. Allegedly, many drug dealers and small-gang members have come forward to stand witness against her as well._

_Well, all we can say is that looks and charm can be deceiving. Should we be surprised if she chose the name Abaddon for herself? According to the Bible, Abaddon was an angel of the abyss. Who calls themselves a name like that?! Looks like our once-beloved musician is staring into that abyss as her trial approaches._

_We’re keeping our fingers crossed… or not._

_(MW)_

 

 

 

He’d been on the road for such a long stretch of time that it felt weird to be home. Dean felt uncomfortable in his small one-bedroom apartment - he could barely sleep at night and felt jumpy and antsy every second of the day.

It took him almost a week to realize that it wasn’t the waiting-for-a-job jitters he usually experienced, but something else. He’d been waiting for a knock at his door the entire time. He wasn’t sure however, if he thought it would be Cas or someone Cas hired to get rid of him.

Dean didn’t understand the kiss that Cas had initiated in the laundry room, at the feet of one of the slimiest men Dean had ever taken down, and the only thing he could think about was the way he had given Charlie up, how convincing he sounded, how much it hurt, how cold it had been, like a bucket of ice water dumped on his chest.

He hadn’t told Bobby yet, though he was planning to. He had been waiting for a knock.

But that knock hadn’t come, and Dean realized that that was the reason why he had been so jumpy, so restless, feeling so out of place in his own space.

It was three in the morning, six days after they got back from that job - Dean’s ribs still vaguely bruised - when he put a sweater over his shirt and left his apartment.

 

 

 

Castiel was wearing loose jeans and a worn out black shirt when he opened the door. He looked wide awake, even though it was close to four now.

He looked Dean up and down and tilted his head slightly, a frown on his face. “It’s so weird to see your out of a suit,” he commented. Dean himself was wearing tight jeans and a black sweater that came up to his neck, and he was thinking the same thing.

Dean didn’t offer any reaction out loud. “You gave Charlie up,” he spat out instead.

In that accusation, he included everything else too: you treated me like a one-night stand you paid for, you betrayed me, you told Abaddon you wanted to join her and I think you meant it, I love, loved you and you didn’t love me back, you lied to me one way or another.

Castiel straightened up and looked at Dean with concern.

“What?”

“When Abaddon asked who got through their firewall, you gave her name without hesitation.”

“Do you think that’s Charlie’s real name?”

“No. Of course not. Do you think I’m that fucking stupid?”

“What’s the problem, then?”

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it. He was frustrated to the point of wanting to punch something, but he made himself take a deep breath. “The problem is that you gave her up without hesitation, whether that’s her real name or not.”

Castiel stepped away from the door. “Come in, Dean, please.” Dean stood there like a rock. “I don’t think you’re stupid. Please, come in.”

Dean reluctantly crossed the doorstep and felt himself tense up tenfold when he heard Castiel close the door.

 

 

 

They spent a lot of time in Cas’ living room at one point. There was construction work going on at Dean’s apartment building and it was impossible to get any sleep, and so Cas offered his couch. This was only about a year after they started working together. It was the turning point in their partnership - they would either be partners or they would be partners in crime, and therefore really good friends. It could have gone either way.

The first night Dean spent there, they shared a bottle of beer in awkward silence. Dean felt like he was overstepping and Cas seemed to constantly forget he wasn’t in the apartment alone - he walked out of the shower completely naked; during dinner cooking, he pressed against Dean by the kitchen counter when reaching for salt for his eggs and promptly apologized.

They broke the ice the second night, cracking another bottle of beer open. This became their routine: get home from the office (they were doing the research part of an upcoming job), get a beer, talk. By the end of it, Dean felt like he had come to know Cas very intimately - even though he was still an enigma who didn’t like to share much of his personal life, Dean could read him, have fun with him, talk to him without any extra effort. He felt like not many people had ever gotten the hang of that.

The living room and the couch became a staple of their friendship, and it was the spot where Dean realized he wanted them to be more.

 

 

 

They stood in the living room about three feet apart. Dean was glaring, Castiel simply looking.

“Dean, can I ask you something?” When he didn’t get a reply, he continued. “Do you think the problem is that I lied and told Abaddon I wanted to join her so I could get out of the ropes and we could get out of there?”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” Dean snapped. He crossed his arms across his chest and frowned.

“I - uh. Okay.” Castiel ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you think I was telling the truth?”

“Don’t lie to your partner. Don’t keep anything from your partner. Those are the rules. You follow rules like they’re the Bible. Yeah, I think you were telling the truth.”

“Fuck the rules,” Castiel said very quietly. Dean had to strain to hear him and he still couldn’t believe his ears. “Fuck the rules, Dean. We were in danger. _You_ were in danger. I had to do something and that was the only option. I’m sorry - I’m sorry you thought I was being truthful. I’m telling the truth now - I only said those things to get free and get us out of there. I really deeply apologize.”

“You’re telling me you don’t care about the rules.”

Dean realized he was shivering. It wasn’t particularly cold outside, but he was so tense his body started reacting.

Castiel seemed to smile to himself. Shaking his head, he shuffled from one foot to the other. “I suppose this is what happens when you don’t communicate, right? Anyway. Yes. I’m telling you I don’t care about the rules, _for you._ I don’t care about the rules. I care about you. Just to clarify.”

When your mouth feels like Sahara and your heart picks up a stupidly fast beat, you know you’re in trouble. In a way, Dean had been in trouble for a very long time, but the tidal wave broke over his head just now. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I care about you. I’m saying I’d become a mob boss if it meant saving you, and I wouldn’t care for a second. I wouldn’t hesitate.”

“You accused me of being stupid because I’d put myself in the way if someone shot at you.”

“I was really calling myself stupid,” Castiel laughed, “because I would do it, too. And I hated that for a long time, because I suppose one of the unspoken rules is that you shouldn’t be sleeping with your partner. Or anything of the sort.”

“Oh,” Dean uttered.

He recalled everything that happened after their night together and found himself looking at it in a new light. Because this was so Cas, wasn’t it? Of course he would be cold towards him, standoffish almost, speaking _at_ him but not really _to_ him unless absolutely necessary. And what if he did all that because he was just as scared as Dean was? Cas was responsible, Cas was serious. He’d had to consider that they were partners, and maybe he thought Dean didn’t want anything but sex because he was tired of the job and needed familiarity and comfort. And it was better than nothing. What if?

“Oh,” he said again. “Right.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Cas said quietly. He was looking down when Dean finally tried to catch his eye. Don’t be ashamed, he wanted to say, and don’t be guilty, we both hurt each other.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, either,” he replied. His voice had gone softer and more cautious, the anger was gone. “You were lying to her, then?”

“Yes, Dean. Yes, I was lying to her.”

And you treated me like I wasn’t there because you were scared and thought I didn’t want to talk about it.

Yes, Dean, he imagined Cas saying, Yes, I was scared and I didn’t want to lose what we have.

“I hate you, you know,” Dean said, letting go of his tense posture and letting his arms relax.

Cas grinned and looked up. He bit down on his lip and walked up to Dean. They weren’t touching, but it felt like they wanted to be.

“I hate you too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They looked at each other, as expectantly as that morning in the hotel room. This time was different. Dean was no longer a coward and Cas was no longer scared.

They reached for each other simultaneously, Cas’ hand landing on Dean’s hip and massaging it through the thick sweater, and Dean cupping Cas’ cheek like he had been doing it for years. In his head, he had been.

Dean remembered the crimson blood on Cas’ shirt, the frown he wore so often, the way his body smelled, the look on his face when Dean said something he shouldn’t have, the way he smiled and laughed, the crinkles around his eyes. The first grey hair they’d found in Cas’ hair a few months ago, the fingerprints on shared bottles of beer, the camaraderie, the anger, the fear, the guns.

Cas was a clear shot, he went through Dean like a bullet.

“Fuck the rules,” Cas repeated.

“I forgive you,” Dean murmured.

“Thank you,” Cas smiled. Their noses were practically brushing. “I forgive us, too.”

They kissed.

 

_the end._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments & kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> Come hang out with me @_dclaiborne on Twitter or @d-claiborne on Tumblr (not active on there, will reply to messages though!) if you want.


End file.
